


Lonely Children

by afewreelthoughts



Series: Ours is the Angst [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst and Feels, Children, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/pseuds/afewreelthoughts
Summary: A story about Edric Storm and someone who showed him kindness





	Lonely Children

**Author's Note:**

> We've had a lot of Stannis POV, so here's some Renly for you. 
> 
> I own nothing and make no money from this. Everything belongs to George R.R. Martin.

Edric Storm cried all through the night. Renly slept through it. Thunderclaps and the roaring waves were his lullaby at Storm’s End, so the cries of a small child made little difference.

But though Renly had slept, from what he could guess, much of the castle had not.  Concerned voices echoed down the corridors when he opened his door, and Edric's shrieks cut through them.

Renly remembered crying himself to sleep at Edric’s age, but it had been because he was hungry, because he had to eat his beloved pony, or because he was afraid he would not wake the following morning. He had no idea what Edric had to cry about _._ For so long. He was a loud and boisterous boy, but had never done something like this since he was a babe.

Renly dressed as quickly as possible, while still making a proper showing, no wrinkles in his doublet, no tangles in his hair, and walked to Edric's rooms with purpose.  

As he left his room, a nearby door opened. Loras Tyrell’s hair was bird’s nest and his eyes were haloed in purple. As much as Renly hated Mace Tyrell, and wanted to hate his son, he could not help but feel sorry for him and a bit guilty. It was not the boy’s fault that he had been packed away from home to live under the same roof as Robert Baratheon’s whelp. Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t Renly’s fault that Edric was here, either.

The small crowd waiting outside parted as Renly walked through them and knocked gently on the door to Edric’s rooms.

Mary, Edric’s nurse, greeted him, “My lord, is anything wrong?" 

Renly smiled, though he had repeatedly told her to call him by his name, and the look on her face said that she knew exactly what was wrong.  “I’m just checking to ask if there’s something I can do to help.”

“King Robert sent a raven last night. He’s not coming for Edric's nameday.”

Robert had never come to his son's namedays before, and Renly wondered for a second why the boy was crying this year, but he supposed five years old was old enough to know what the words "Your father isn’t coming" meant.

“Should I talk to him?”

Mary opened the door enough to lean on the frame. “That isn’t necessary, my lord, but thank – what!” Edric slipped past her and into the hall. For some mysterious reason, he attached himself to Renly, burying his face in the side of Renly’s velvet trousers and clinging to him like a barnacle.

“I’m so sorry, my lord…”

“It’s fine.” Renly found he did not want to push the child away. He had never been close to Edric, had made an effort to absent himself from the child, but he did not want to push him away. He wondered if he should pat the boy’s back or ruffle his hair, or if that would only make it worse.

“You do look so much like Robert,” Mary offered.

All the portraits of Robert at Storm’s End were years old by now, and were of a vibrant, strong youth, not an aging, lecherous man. Renly always felt they were mocking him, presenting him with a version of himself that he ought to aspire to. He frowned and tried to pull away.

Edric cried louder.

“May I help?” said a new voice. Loras Tyrell was at his elbow, his wild hair pulled back with a ribbon.

Renly nodded.

Loras knelt down next to Edric. “Hi," he said. His voice was low and calm.

Edric turned his face to look at Loras, still pressed close to Renly.

“I heard it’s your nameday soon,” Loras said. “How old are you going to be?”

Edric muttered something unintelligible.

“Could you show me how many that is?” Loras held up his hand.

Edric held up his palm and counted out on his fingers one – two – three – four – five.

“Wow. You’re going to grow up to be even taller than your Uncle Renly.”

Edric looked up at Renly warily, as if he were a strange intrusion on his conversation with Loras, instead of the person he had been clinging to for dear life.

“You're going to be a strong knight someday,” said Loras.

“I am,” Edric said.

“Would you like to come train with me?”

“Okay,” Edric said quietly. Edric did not realize what an honor this was. Loras’s favorite thing was morning drills. Even amongst boys his age, Mace Tyrell's youngest son had a strange affinity for hitting people with sticks, and he was remarkably good at it. On his first morning at Storm’s End, he had gotten in a few hits against Renly, who had laughed them off, even though they had hurt like hell.

“Why don’t you go with Cortnay Penrose?” Renly said, surprised at the softness in his own voice. He gently ruffled the boy’s hair before Penrose stepped out of the crowd, took him by the hand, and led him down the corridor.

Absolute silence was left behind when they went.

Loras squirmed under the watchful eyes of half the castle staff. “I won’t actually _train_ with him,” Loras explained to Renly, almost apologetic. “Just play a little bit.”

“Thank you, everyone," Renly said to the assembled men and women. "I think Edric's doing better."  Renly put a hand on Loras’s back to lead him away. “How did you do that?” he asked when they were out of earshot.

Loras shrugged. “I have a little sister. And Highgarden is full of children. He just needed something to distract him. When children are that age and that small, everything is too much for them.”

“His father isn’t coming to his nameday,” Renly said.

“Your brother Robert?”

“Yes.”

“I imagine he’s busy being king,” Loras said kindly.

Renly did not want to respond to that, so he said, “You’re still a small child.”

“I’m eleven years old. I’m almost a man grown,” Loras said, in the most childish way Renly imagined those words could be spoken.

“Of course you are,” Renly said lightly.

Loras frowned at him.

“Well no matter how small you are, you did what an entire castle of grown men and women could not.”

"I'll be the Knight of Saving Crying Children."

"Maybe you will."

"Can I go, my lord?  I should meet Edric in the training yard."

"Yes, of course."

Loras ran back to his rooms, loud and reckless like the child that he was.

 


End file.
